Dark Night of the Soul
by Breeze2
Summary: At the knowledge of Trumpkin's impending death, Rilian hurries to his chamber. Once there his oldest friend sets him a task that will define and forever change his life.


Dark Night of the Soul

The message was sent at ten minutes before one. The King was needed.

Druffle the dwarf had long ago come to realise that their young monarch was a wanderer and a poor sleeper at that. His chief man-servant Tomas frequently lamented at his continual absence in the mornings and had taken to sending his apprentice to find their errant king. Over the months, the young red dwarf had developed a knack for finding his king and now ran quickly down the main staircase of Cair Paravel to search in the most likely place, before working his way towards the less likely possibilities.

The residents of Cair Paravel had grown used to their new king's habit of night time wanderings soon after his crowning six months before, accepting it as one of his many "eccentricities". Though the reality was that the elderly courtiers of the Narnian court did not know quite what to make of the young and grave King Rilian. From afar he seemed merely distracted. But up close, many of his attendants had noticed the preoccupied way he went about his royal duties, doing what was expected and attempting to smile and show interest, but during unguarded moments seeming grave and pensive.

On most nights this abstraction could be forgiven, but tonight the need was urgent.

Druffle huffed when the king was absent from the parapets. Always his first stop on his searches. The red dwarf quickly took off at a trot towards the castle gardens and after as quick a search as he could manage, was still without his monarch. With a hasty prayer to Aslan that his third choice would be correct, the young dwarf hurried down towards the beach.

His luck held.

King Rilian was standing on the shore watching the beach in the moonlight. It was an eerie place at such an hour but also relatively peaceful.

Druffle slowed his pace considerably, not wanting to shock the monarch and approached at a sedate walk.

"My King!"

The young man turned to the dwarf. He nodded his head in greeting. "Well met, Druffle, what can I do for you this evening? It must be urgent for Master Tomas to send you at such an unsociable hour."

The dwarf nodded, "My Lord King, you must come at once. Lord Trumpkin's condition has severely deteriorated, the physician has said he is dying."

There were few phrases that could have gained an immediate response from the Narnian king, but this was one. Without a word, he took off sprinting up the beach towards the castle. Druffle followed as best he could and arrived to find the king clasping the old dwarf's hand, his face a mask of pain.

With an imperiousness bordering on emperor-like, Trumpkin waved a wrinkled hand,

"My friends, I thank you for your aid this evening but would wish to speak to our king alone."

The chamber soon emptied, leaving the king and his oldest friend alone.

Rilian stared at Trumpkin's lined face, a thousand memories chasing each other through his mind as he considered what to say. The dwarf regarded him for a long time, his dark eyes still clear and bright, not fogged by age or time. The wisdom of countless decades within his gaze. Eventually, the king had to look away, too overcome by his emotions.

He couldn't, _wouldn't_ lose the only person alive who had known his father, who had been his teacher, his guide, his advisor, like an uncle ... Rilian swallowed hard. He would not lose control again. He would not allow emotion to cloud his judgement and cause quick and rash action. He was king. He didn't have the luxury of blaming his youth for wretched decisions any more …

"My king."

Rilian flinched. He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that Trumpkin's words took him completely by surprise. The dwarf was regarding him with a shrewdness that stripped him bare. The former regent knew everything about him. Every flaw of his character.

"That title feels like it should belong to another, my friend," Rilian replied. "To one far worthier."

The dwarf sighed. "That other was a great king and my greatest friend, Rilian. But he has been dead for six months. Do you not see that there is another who has taken his place? Who was sworn in? Who vowed to serve his nation?"

The young king dropped his gaze. "One who does not feel worthy …"

"Well he must be! Bulbs and bolsters, foolish lad, do you think I asked you here to lament over my passing? I have served this nation since her birth over seventy years ago. I'm ready for my eternal rest and to travel to Aslan's own country. I've served her to the best of my ability, can you say the same?"

Rilian stared, stunned by the bluntness of Trumpkin's speech. But then, had he ever known anything else from his oldest, firmest friend?

The dwarf calmed himself enough to take a deep breath. "I didn't bring you here to brow beat you, Rilian. I asked you here to make a request."

"Anything!" Rilian exclaimed. "Tell me your wish and it shall be given to you."

"Steady yourself a moment, boy, whistles and whirligigs, how quick young folk are these days. Nowhere so steady as we were when I was young. Now, my request will be no easier for you to fulfil than for me to ask, but it needs to be said and done, Rilian."

"Please, tell me your wish that I might fulfil, it," the young king entreated.

"Rilian, stop promising me things and simply listen. Do you remember the day your poor mother died?"

Rilian blanched. "Of course, I do, not a day goes by that I do not lament my folly on that day. Why do you speak of it?"

Trumpkin propped himself up on his pillows to gain eye-level with the young man. "Because my request is to do with that day."

"What is it?"

"That you journey to that same glade where you lost your dear mother and make peace with what happened there."

Rilian's reaction was instant. He strode away, pacing to the window before turning to stare at the dwarf in disbelief.

"I can't," he stated, "how can you ask such a thing of me? I hate that cursed place. I lost my mother, my freedom and my father all because of that wretched glade. I was a slave for ten years because of that lion-forsaken glade. I can never return there."

He paused long enough to see the great sadness on Trumpkin's face. Instantly contrite, he knelt at the dwarf's bedside.

"Please, my old friend, think of what that place means to me. Think of what happened there." He stared at Trumpkin, beseeching.

The dwarf nodded. "I know what it means to you, my king, and that is why I make this request. Rilian, do you think I do not know of your inner turmoil? Do you think me oblivious to the show you have been putting on for six months? Even the most unobservant among your court cannot fail to see that you only attend to your duties out of necessity. Why is that? I have spoken to your physician and asked him to observe you closely. He has told me that you are in excellent health physically, so my only conclusion can be that it is a sadness of the mind, an ailment of the spirit."

Instead of denying this as he normally would have, Rilian slumped in his chair and buried his head in his hands. Trumpkin waited patiently for him to find the words.

It was a while before the young king looked up, his eyes distant and haunted.

"I dream of her, Trumpkin. I dream of the witch. I dream that I am back in that kingdom, still brain-washed and her puppet. I dream that… I still desire her …" Rilian's face had drained of all colour. "I cannot sleep because I cannot escape from these dreams. I cannot rule as my father did because I am not the man he was. I am weak … I … I am not worthy to be king … _How_ … how … can I rule the country I was going to invade and destroy without a moment's thought?" He shook his head violently, "I cannot rule because I cannot get past the shame … my own mother died because of my weakness … my father died of a broken heart because I was so feeble in mind …"

He turned to Trumpkin and saw the pain, the compassion. "My boy, you were enchanted for ten years. You were not responsible for such thoughts or for your parents' deaths. But you do not believe that yourself. That is why you must go, Rilian," the dwarf stated. "You are haunted by your past, by your actions and mistakes that you have made. Blunders, might I add, that you are not alone in making. You could search the length and breadth of this kingdom and you would fail to find a single creature who has not had their head turned by a comely face. I need you to go to that place and confront this, to realise and accept who you are. Travel to the forest clearing, that is my final request. Do that and I shall die in peace."

With these words, Trumpkin closed his eyes to rest. Rilian rose, knowing he was dismissed. Unable to speak, he left the chamber and made his way silently to his own.

He was quick to dismiss his attendants. He wanted no company that night. He had a choice to make and a truth to face. Only in these circumstances, confronted with Trumpkin's impending death, had he been able to speak of the fears that had haunted him from months.

On first returning, there had been a flurry of essential tasks, to make it to his father in time, to reassure his subjects that they would have a king, to search through his land ensuring that no supporters of the witch existed. Then had come the longer and more tedious duties, meeting with ambassadors to ensure trade routes and friendship, discussions of law, the setting up of taxes. Finally, he had entered this latest phase, one of going through the motions, fulfilling royal duties, greeting visiting dignitaries, drilling his army. A never-ending repetition of duties that had grown dull and monotonous as the months had progressed. And with those months – a deeper sinking into himself as he relied more and more upon the wisdom of his advisors, feeling less and less capable with each passing day, never feeling like he measured up to the standards of leadership set by his father and Trumpkin.

The night seemed to go on forever.

Rilian stared out across the shore. Unlike other nights when he would walk and allow his mind to wander, this night he forced himself to think. To face the truth that he had been avoiding for months. To mentally prepare himself for the journey that he was slowly coming to realise that he must make.

Eventually, he closed his eyes and found solace in the one place he could seem to find peace in the endless dark, praying to Aslan.

" _Aslan. King of my soul," he prayed, "In those nights of darkness when I cried to you, you heard me. In that hour of sanity in the darkness of my despair, you were my only light. Please, give me the courage to face this journey and the return to the pace I hate the most. A place that represents only folly, pain and death. Please, gracious king, give me the courage to take this journey, to face the pain I do not wish to confront and look upon the truth of my folly and sin. Amen_."

0 0 0

Rilian awoke before dawn. He had fallen asleep on the window seat and had a surprisingly restful few hours. Silently, he dressed in fresh clothes and moved quietly through the sleeping castle. He knew where he was going and what he had to do.

With only the grey light of dawn to aid him, he saddled his gelding Dimas and left. As though he already knew the way, the horse cantered confidently through the lightening forest, tossing his head in enjoyment in the freshness of early morning.

Upon his back, Rilian recalled when he too had taken such delight in an early departure. He had woken even earlier to weave a garland of fresh beech leaves for his and his mother's hair, anticipating a day of true enjoyment and recreation away from the busyness of castle life. They had ridden this same way, maying and enjoying the bounty of the summer season in a planned day of light-hearted frivolity.

When he thought back to the careless young knight he had been, Rilian shook his head. He had been so sure of who he was. So certain of the bright future that lay ahead of him. He had joked and laughed with the other knights, larking around and taking risks to impress his mother's ladies in waiting. The great folly and certainty of youth.

Over the next hour the sky brightened enough for Rilian to see properly and he began to recognise landmarks from that fateful day. A fallen log that he had jumped with his friends. A tall apple tree from which they had gathered fruit. A stream where they had paused to drink.

Then he heard it.

The merry bubbling of a spring as it flowed out of the earth. Rilian felt his heart leap into his mouth. He dismounted slowly and tied Dimas with enough room to graze.

Unable to breathe, Rilian entered the glade.

It was beautiful. Early morning sunlight filtered through the leaves of the swaying trees. A pleasant green oasis in the forest. At the centre bubbled the same spring by which his mother had died.

Rilian swallowed.

It was too beautiful.

In his mind it should have been scorched and ugly. The trees dead. The spring a muddy hole. The sky black. The air gey. The glade stinking of death.

But the reality was … it wasn't.

This place was as lovely and untouched as the day he had first come there. It still watered the trees and caused delight to the eye.

Slowly, Rilian entered the clearing. He looked about him, searching for signs of the tragedy but finding none. He approached the pool and knelt before it. He moved towards the sheltered mossy bank upon which his mother had once rested her head.

The tears were soaking his cheeks before he could stop them. Quietly, he knelt upon the bank and wept for his dead mother, crying for the gentle and kindly soul whose life had been taken in this lovely place. He wasn't sure how long he cried, but half the morning seemed to have passed before he had sat up and started weaving a floral wreath from a nearby banks of wild flowers. Reverently, he laid the wreath upon the bank and felt comfort for the first time in a long time.

Slowly, he started to accept that this place was not the location of horror that he had come to believe it was. True, his mother had died in this glade, but it did not stop it being beautiful or providing water for the plants and animals that lived in the forest.

After rising from the bank, he turned to the corner which he most dreaded. It was a seemingly insignificant spot, a shaded corner under a sweeping tree bough. But it had been there that he had first seen … her. His own personal demon. The vision of beauty who has stolen his boyhood, tried and nearly managed to take his future.

Rilian released a breath he didn't know he was holding and made himself take a step towards the tree. Why was it this hard? This was an insignificant tree branch in an unremarkable forest clearing. It shouldn't have such a power over his mind.

But it had.

After managing a few more steps, Rilian found himself kneeling and staring at the tree. It was an oak, slightly stunted by the growth of those around it but still relatively tall. Not an object of horror to any but him.

Gradually, he forced himself to remember that day. He had come as one person and left utterly changed.

When he had ridden to this place in a fury of sorrow and righteous anger, determined to avenge his dead mother, he had not at first seen her. He had dismounted in a rage and instantly strode towards the thick bushes from which the snake had come.

Then he had heard it.

A gentle, melodic laugh.

Rilian swallowed.

To that day, he could still not swear that he had ever seen anything lovelier than that maiden. Pale as starlight. Hair of spun gold. Her glittering dress as green as spring leaves.

So he had returned, enraptured. Selling his soul to a vision of loveliness as fake as an oasis in the Calormene Desert.

What was it that Trumpkin had said? _'You could search the length and breadth of this kingdom and you would fail to find a single creature who has not had their head turned by a comely face.'_

Rilian paused. Maybe he was right. He had been young and cocksure, as so many teenagers were. He had been foolish and impetuous. True, his folly had led him to ten years of enslavement, but hadn't Trumpkin made mistakes in his youth? Slowly, he found a memory returning of a tale his father had told him. Of a place called Deathwater Island. Overcome by lust for wealth, his own father had fought and nearly killed his friend Edmund.

Slowly, Rilian took another step towards the shady corner.

Maybe it was time to stop putting his father on a pedestal and remember that he had made mistakes, just as they all had. Even Trumpkin had been young and foolish once.

Gradually, the truth dawned upon him.

Every creature made mistakes. Every person in the wide world had come to regret some decision or other. But what mattered was not the action itself, but how you chose to respond to that mistake. Had Caspian X hated himself for the rest of his life and perished from guilt? No, he had learnt the lesson and continued on, using it to shape the type of ruler he was to become.

With a few more steps, he had reached the tree. He reached up a hand to stroke the roughness of the bark and something miraculous happened.

He laughed.

 _This_ was the place he had feared? This quiet, unremarkable corner of his land was the place that he had dreaded and hated?

With a sigh, Rilian knelt by the tree and found his eyes once more closing.

" _Aslan, forgive me,"_ he prayed, _"forgive me for fearing this place for so many years. For the folly of listening to my fear. The fear that told me that I could never match up to my father. Great king, please help me to get past this and become the king that I can be, through trusting in you and following your will. Thank you for Trumpkin's wisdom. Thank you for his long years of friendship and guidance. Please keep him alive and well until I might tell him of my folly and the healing that you have enacted this day. I know he will be travelling to your country soon, and he is ready. Amen."_

0 0 0

Rilian's journey back to Cair Paravel would never be one that be could remember with much clarity. All he could be sure of when he looked back upon it was that his heart felt lighter than it had in years.

Indeed, when he had entered Trumpkin's chamber that night, the first thing the dwarf had done was to smile in his gruff old way and nod with satisfaction.

"Good lad," he had stated, "now you are ready to be king."

Rilian had laughed and seated himself by the dwarf's side. Quietly, he had related the steps of his revelation and acceptance. Trumpkin had listened and nodded at intervals. Only speaking when the king had finished.

"Your father was as foolish a youth as any, Rilian," he stated. "I myself was not the most sensible of dwarves. But what matters is not that you have made the mistake, but what you do once you have. You only learn when you get things wrong, my boy. I have it on good authority that Aslan once said to High King Peter that if he had said he was ready to be king, then it would have been proof that he wasn't. None of us are ever truly ready for the challenges that we will face. Instead we face them and learn as we go through. I have always believed that Aslan teaches us the most through the mistakes that we make."

Rilian nodded. "Thank you, old friend."

Trumpkin smiled, "You needed to learn it lad, and now you do."

Slowly, the old dwarf sighed. He rested his head back against the pillows, his eyes growing heavy. "Rilian, my time grows near. I am going soon, my lad. I will finally see Aslan's country as Reepicheep did all those long years ago."

Rilian's throat suddenly felt tight. "Then go, my friend. Go to your well-earned rest."

In the end, Trumpkin fell into a peaceful sleep and breathed for another few minutes. As he did, other members of the court came to bid him farewell. He did not heed it, but he was surrounded by friends when he passed on to Aslan's own country.

0 0 0

The evening air was cool when Rilian finally allowed himself to feel. He was back upon the beach, watching the waves.

Trumpkin had been buried that day with full honours. They had finished a quiet feast in his honour before all had left for an early retirement to bed. As usual, Rilian had found his solace away from the stuffy confines of his chambers.

Not bothering to wipe them away, he let the tears fall. Despite knowing where he had gone, he could not help mourning for one he had loved so dearly. His last parental figure had now passed on.

"Dear one."

Rilian's heart leapt and twisted at that voice. He turned, and _he_ was there. Golden even in the moonlight and beautiful beyond description.

"Aslan," the word came out half prayer, half exhalation. "Aslan."

The presence of the one he adored made his tears turn to full weeping. Eventually, he felt the gentle tongue wiping them away, knew the warmth of his body as he sat, almost curled around the king. Comforted, Rilian leant back against the solid warmth and wiped his tears in the golden fur.

"Is he in your country, Aslan? Is he at peace?"

"He is, dear one. He is with your father and all their friends."

He nodded.

"He requested I do a task before he died."

"I know."

"How did he know that I needed to return to that place. Aslan?"

"Because he knew _you,_ Rilian, my son. He knew you were haunted by a mistake that made you pay dearly. But even in your fear, you knew the truth."

"What truth?"

"That I was with you. Even in the darkest of times, I was with you and shall always be with you. I will never leave you, my son. You will make more mistakes in the future but choose to learn from them and choose to trust in me. As you have always done, even when you have felt utterly hopeless and alone. I will be with you, my dear one."

Gently, Aslan lowered his great head and licked a final tear from Rilian's cheek and then, he was gone.

Alone, Rilian sat upon the beach watching the waves, warmed by the truth of Aslan's promise and the truth that had always defined his life.

0 0 0

Author's note:

I haven't written in the Narnian fandom for a long time. But this fic has been haunting me for about a year. I kept seeing Rilian unable to sleep, alone upon the beach and haunted by his past. Having gone through a relatively similar time recently, this fic has been slightly cathartic for me and slightly symbolic of my own walk with God.

The title is taken from a poem of the same name by Saint John, some believe it speaks of Jesus' time in Gethsemane. I'm not entirely sure, but I do believe that the intimacy spoken of in it is spiritual rather than physical.

Thank you for reading this, I couldn't not write it any longer and I hope it blesses you.

Breeze.

 _The Dark Night of the Soul_

 _St John Of the Cross_

 _On a dark night,  
Kindled in love with yearnings–oh, happy chance!–  
I went forth without being observed,  
My house being now at rest._

 _In darkness and secure,  
By the secret ladder, disguised–oh, happy chance!–  
In darkness and in concealment,  
My house being now at rest._

 _In the happy night,  
In secret, when none saw me,  
Nor I beheld aught,  
Without light or guide, save that which burned in my  
heart._

 _This light guided me  
More surely than the light of noonday  
To the place where he (well I knew who!) was awaiting me–  
A place where none appeared._

 _Oh, night that guided me,  
Oh, night more lovely than the dawn,  
Oh, night that joined Beloved with lover,  
Lover transformed in the Beloved!_

 _Upon my flowery breast,  
Kept wholly for himself alone,  
There he stayed sleeping, and I caressed him,  
And the fanning of the cedars made a breeze._

 _The breeze blew from the turret  
As I parted his locks;  
With his gentle hand he wounded my neck  
And caused all my senses to be suspended._

 _I remained, lost in oblivion;  
My face I reclined on the Beloved.  
All ceased and I abandoned myself,  
Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies._


End file.
